


Catnip

by InnerMuse



Category: Original Work
Genre: Begging, Bondage, Consensual Non-Consent, Daddy Kink, Dubious Consent, F/M, Kidnapping, Knife Kink, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Teasing, fangs and thorns blog fic, fic of other people's original work, just a little of that last one if you squint, light humiliation, see story notes for details, word of god consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 13:46:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17204486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerMuse/pseuds/InnerMuse
Summary: A hunter toys with his prey.





	Catnip

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WrenAndPoppy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrenAndPoppy/gifts).



> **On the characters:** The prey is [Kitten](https://inner-muse.tumblr.com/post/171973688835/sort-of-new-ish-oc-this-is-anastasia-aka-kitten), an adorable submissive darling who was originally a Dragon Age OC. She belongs to me.
> 
> The hunter is [Allycat](http://wrenseroticlibrary.tumblr.com/tagged/allycat), belonging to WrenAndPoppy, aka [@wrenseroticlibrary](http://wrenseroticlibrary.tumblr.com/) or [@fangsandthorns](http://fangsandthorns.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, who describes him as "an asshole with a rope fetish." Borrowed with permission. Hopefully I've done him justice.
> 
>  **On consent:** Kitten, the victim here, has a kidnapping fetish. In the unstated premise of this story, she also has a good friend-and-occasional-mistress who is both very rich and very kinky*, to whom she has described said fetish in detail. It’s that friend who’s paid for her abduction, and the contract includes her hard limits and her usual safeword in case she panics and blurts it out. Kitten is completely safe the whole time, though she doesn’t know it; in a few days she’ll be delivered to her friend, blissed out and shaken, for snuggles, hot chocolate, and lots of aftercare. This is never mentioned in the story, however, so without that framing, it’s just romanticized noncon. But if that sounds like your cup of tea, then by all means read on!
> 
>    
> *For anyone familiar with the rest of my work... yes, that is Kelandris.

There’s rope around her wrists, cool concrete at her back, and slick arousal between her legs. Kitten hums to herself, warm and content: a good dream. Her bare toes curl against the wall behind her as she arches her back; a delicious shiver runs down her spine as her thighs clench around the denim seam of her shorts. Tipping her head back, she lets her dark curls tumble around her face— And that’s when the illusion shatters. A sudden shock of cold water splashes across her front; she gasps and spasms in shock, eyes snapping open. She’s definitely awake now!

It takes her a frantic second to realize she still can’t move her arms. It’s not a dream.

“Good morning, princess,” drawls a smooth, mocking voice.

She chokes on another gasp, tossing damp hair out of her face with a wild flick of her head. The man in front of her could have come from the dream she wasn’t having: all feline grace and lean muscle, green eyes glinting above a dark leather jacket, a messy blond ponytail flopping over his shoulder— but if his wicked grin hadn’t convinced her this is real, the knife in his hand would have. It’s a blade she recognizes it instantly: it belongs to her. Or at least, it  _had_ belonged to her.

She starts to tremble as the mysterious stranger crouches down in front of her. “Who-who are you? What’s going on?! I don’t—“

“Shhh.” He pricks her chin with the tip of her blade. She shuts up. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing with a nice knife like this?” The sharp point trails under her jaw, and she lets out a pitiful little whine.

“I-I— I like knives!” She squeaks, and promptly cringes. Of all the stupid answers she could give… How is she supposed to respond to that? Her mind hasn’t caught up with the reality of the situation. Her thoughts are looping in frightened circles. Her clothes are drenched, and there’s cold water trickling down the back of her neck— and hot, treacherous desire dripping down her spine. Lord help her, she’s so afraid, but she’s never been able to resist the sweet caress of steel…

“Ha. So do I.” Her captor grins. “Seems you’ve made enemies, little Kitten.”

Fresh adrenaline jolts through her. “Wh-what? How do you know my name? Please, I haven’t done anything!” She tilts her head, straining to get away from the knife – she needs to think, to plan, do  _something!_  She can’t do anything with that blade at her throat, stealing her breath and her wits, making her shudder with fear and desire in equal measure… But her captor is relentless. Leaning in, he seizes a fistful of her curls, and yanks sideways to bare her throat. He presses the edge of her knife against the side of her neck, and she  _gasps_ , her whole body arching like a drawn bow, sodden breasts squashing against his leather-clad chest. She might be terrified out of her wits— but she’s never been so aroused in her entire fucking life.

“Sorry, darling – but someone paid for your head. And I plan to deliver.”

The light prick of steel suddenly sharpens. “What no  _w-wait!_ No no no please don’t kill me, please there’s been a mistake I swear!“ She thrashes, but his hold is too strong, she’s defenseless and exposed and she’s going to die—

“Heh.” His low chuckle is rich and cruel. He’s laughing at her – but even so, the deadly pressure against her throat eases the tiniest bit. “Keep begging like  _that_ , pet, and we’re gonna get along  _real_  well.”

“Y-you aren’t going to kill me?”

“Right this second? Nah.” Invading her space even further, he drags his tongue along her jaw, just above the edge of the knife. She shivers. “I did say I’d  _try_  to leave your head attached to your body,” he purrs in her ear. The bright line of cold steel against her skin finally disappears as he nips her earlobe before pulling back. Emerald fire smolders in his eyes. “But I didn’t promise I’d leave your hide intact. So you’re going to be  _very_  good for me, aren’t you, princess? I’d hate to have to ruin such a pretty face.” He brushes a stray curl away from her face with the flat of his blade. She flinches, just a little, hot tears slipping down her cheeks.

“Y-yes Sir, I’ll be good, I swear, just please, don’t hurt me—”

There’s something hot and hard prodding her hip.

“Mmm, you’re so cute when you cry. You sure you don’t want me to hurt you? Bet you’d be even prettier when you scream.”

It doesn’t matter what she wants: she’s bound and pinned and helpless, and if he wants to see her suffer, there isn’t a single damn thing she can do to stop him. She squirms, tugging reflexively at the rope around her wrists, but the motion only grinds her core against his leg. She’s so exposed… Caught between fear and desire, she gives a desperate moan. He chuckles darkly, finally letting go of her hair only to grab her by the jaw instead. His thumb shoves past her parted lips, hooking over her teeth and pressing down on her tongue. A needy whine rises in her throat.

“Uh huh. Thought so.” He’s still got her damn knife in his other hand. He presses the tip to the hollow of her throat, and she shudders all over. Well, if he likes it when she grovels… Sealing her lips around his thumb, she sucks, hard, swishing her tongue like it’s not his  _finger_  he has in her mouth. His eyes widen.

“Mmh, oh man, you  _really_  have a thing for blades, don’t you?” Baring his teeth in a wicked grin, he drags his thumb from her mouth, pulling down her lower lip and smearing saliva onto her chin. He grabs a fistful of her sodden blouse and yanks it down, revealing ample breasts cupped in dark lacy fabric. With excruciating care, he trails the tip of his stolen knife along the edge of her bra, dimpling her skin and leaving goosebumps in his wake. “All this nice, sharp steel, scraping over such soft, delicate flesh… You like knowing I‘ve got your life in my hands, sweetheart? That I could slit you open with the flick of a wrist, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it?”

Her core is throbbing in time with the hummingbird-flutter of her pulse. She can’t tell where terror ends and want begins; perhaps they’re one and the same. “Please,” she whispers, “Please…”

“Don’t move, pet,” he says, all gravel and dark velvet. A predator’s warning growl. The knife flashes down, and she cries out,  _flinching_ —

“Aww, did I scare you?” His grin is not the slightest bit repentant. Her chest is heaving, the torn, sodden fabric of her blouse clinging to her breasts. Cool air licks her skin as he shoves the ends aside. Another two flicks of his blade sever the seams at her shoulders and the straps of her bra; she squirms. Tucking the knife away, he pulls her clothes free and tosses them carelessly aside.

“Nice tits,” he purrs. His hands are rough and hot against her breasts. He cups them, hefts them – and abruptly lets go to seize her nipples instead, pinching hard. She writhes, gasping at the bloom of sensation, pain and pleasure all rolled into one. His dark rumble only makes it worse. “Mm, good girl. Such an eager little slut.”

She mewls, cheeks flushing as his fingers twist. Stinging heat radiates out from her breasts, pooling low in her groin. If she was wet before, she’s  _dripping_  now. “Please,” she gasps again.

“That’s right, pet. Beg for daddy.”

“Hnnng…” She’s long past wondering or caring what’s going on. All that matters is that she’s at his mercy, and he’s given her an order. “Yessir, please, I’m yours! Take me, touch me, do whatever you want— a-ah,  _please!”_  Her spine arches as he gives one final squeeze, her head tipping back to bare the pale line of her throat. The tension releases as he lets her go; she slumps in her bonds with a whimper. “I want to be your good little slut, I’ll take whatever you want…”

“Not like you’ve got a choice,” he drawls. The words send a fresh wave of heat rippling through her – but it’s nothing compared to the fire he lights in her veins when he purrs, “Spread your legs.” It’s difficult to obey, her body craving every tiny scrap of friction she can muster— but she does so, anyway, dragging her thighs apart with a needy groan. His knuckle trails over the front of her shorts, a maddening, teasing pressure. “I wonder just how wet you are…”

He draws her knife again with a hiss of steel. She chokes on a gasp, shivery-hot anticipation prickling over her skin. Another sob tears from her throat as he slashes through the fabric concealing her core. The last vestiges of protection fall away; she’s completely bare before him. She’s never been more terrified, more helpless, more wanton… and he seems to revel in every second. Smirking, he presses the blade lightly to her inner thigh, the razor edge just barely tickling her skin. Her breath is a keen, high-pitched and near-silent.

“Frightened, little one?” His knife hovers a hairsbreadth away from her most intimate flesh. She can’t answer, only wallow in sweet, trembling dread, quivering like glass about to shatter. When he flicks his hand away, the steel glistens with slick, where she’s dripped onto the blade. He laughs, a mocking ripple of amusement that seeps right down to her bones, and smears it clean with the pad of his thumb. She’s never seen anything so shamefully, unbearably erotic.

“Please—” she pants through moistened, parted lips, “Sir, can I taste? P-please?”

He blinks, then grins, enjoying this as much as she is. “Well, since you asked so nicely… open your mouth, and stick out your tongue.”

Her toes curl as she obeys, savoring the heady cocktail of pleasure and fear, humiliation and delight. Maker, she wants this so bad— but she wants to be good even more than she wants her treat. So she holds her position, knowing better than to lick at his thumb, even when he pauses a scant inch away from her tongue, taunting her with her own scent. The only plea she can make is a reedy whine. Dark, liquid eyes blink up at him, begging without words.  _Please_ …

“Such a good pet,” he purrs, and drags his thumb, achingly slow, down over her waiting tongue. “You can swallow, princess,” he adds. His condescending chuckle is nearly drowned out by her wanton moan. “Ha! Pretty Kitty likes her cream! You want more, sweetheart?”

”Yessir, please!”

“Stay spread for me.” His fingers skim over her lower lips, feather-light and electric. It’s not enough, not  _nearly_  enough— and that’s what makes it perfect. She squirms, thighs trembling, and he does it again: a slow stroke of his fingers that runs the whole length of her weeping slit, fiendishly gentle. His other hand returns to her breast, his damp thumb rubbing circles over the sensitive peak. Another plea tumbles from her lips, more desperate than the first… and he starts teasing in earnest. Expert fingers explore her folds, caressing every sopping inch till she’s whining, wanting,  _writhing_. “Please,” she says, and “More,” fervent as prayer, sinful as blasphemy.

When he finally touches her clit, she spasms in her bonds. Her thighs jolt, threatening to clench around his hand— and then she  _squeals_  as he rewards her lapse with a sudden smack against her inner thigh. Her legs fall open once again. The flick that follows sends pleasure lancing through her, as sharp as any blade, pulling her muscles taut without any input from her will. It’s only when his hand disappears that she realizes she’s disobeyed again.

“Aah— no, I’m sorry! Please, I’ll be good I swear! Please don’t stop, sir,  _please_ , I’m sorry—“

“Shhh, don’t worry, pet.” He wipes his damp fingers casually across her cheek. “Daddy’s gonna take good care of you.”

She subsides into whimpers as he gets to his feet and saunters over to the desk. A moment later he returns with two things: a coil of rope, which gets dropped on the floor beside them; and a spreader bar, with wide leather straps at each end.

“Oh fuck,” she says. “Sir, please…” She lifts her gaze to his, dark and liquid, but the eager light behind his eyes silences her burgeoning plea.

“Aww, I thought you wanted to be my helpless little toy?” He cocks his head, eyebrows climbing, his expression dripping with false sincerity. Her cheeks burn with shame at the degradation – but even worse is the fact that he’s  _right_. She does want it, so much, she wants to be claimed and used and broken to heel… Biting her lip, she closes her eyes and nods.

The first cuff fastens snugly, just above her knee. A hot tear slips down her face as he guides her legs apart, even wider than before, and buckles her in. “Good girl,” he purrs, pulling the leather strap tight. Her breath hitches in her throat; she opens her eyes to blink up at him anxiously. “You’re so pretty like this. So nice and open and vulnerable…” He caresses up her thigh and further still, dancing over her folds. The only thing she can do is twitch and gasp. “Isn’t this much better? I can do whatever I want, now, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Gently, inexorably, he slips two fingers inside her. It’s exquisite, overwhelming, and  _agonizingly_  slow… With a full-throated moan, she clenches around him. And then he curls his fingers and pumps his hand, as deliberately as he’d entered, and she cries out at the pulse of torturous ecstasy. True to his word, he doesn’t stop, just continues to work her over with expert precision – and all the while, he murmurs hotly, driving her wild with a stream of wicked filth.

“So wet for me, princess… You love getting tied up and fucked silly, don’t you? Such an eager slut— it would be  _so_  easy to make you fall apart. I bet all I’d have to do is rub your little pearl and you’d come like the wanton whore you are.”

“A-ah, fuck, yes! Please, sir!” Chest heaving, she rolls her hips, struggling to meet his thrusts, but he grabs her thigh and pins her in place.

“Oh, no, I’m enjoying myself way too much, watching you drip and beg.” With a lewd squelch, he pulls free, ignoring her desperate whimper. “Open up, sweetheart.” Her eyes widen as he brings his fingers to her lips. She obeys at once, suckling eagerly, feasting on her own juices.

“H-heh, I’m going to have so much fun with you… Maybe later I’ll tie you to the desk over there, nice and tight, so you can’t even squirm, what do you think?” He grins darkly as she moans again, struggling to nod around his fingers. “I wonder how much you could take before you screamed for mercy?”

A surge of heat rips through her, so intense she shudders in her restraints. She’s already aching and begging, and she’s only had the barest glimpse of his attention. It wouldn’t take much to break her— but oh, how she wants to be broken. To be tied and teased and tortured till she can’t possibly bear it, not a single second more of pleasure, or pain, or pure, simple  _sensation_  – but it wouldn’t be up to her, when her torment ended. She arches her back, clenching on nothing, wretched with dreadful anticipation. His fingers slip from her mouth, sliding over her tongue.

“W-would you give it, Sir? Mercy?” She’s panting, now, liquid fire pulsing in her chest and her groin. He drags a wet line across her breasts, leaving tingles in his wake, and plays with her nipples once more, rolling them deftly between his fingers.

“Nope.”

It’s what she’d hoped, and what she’d feared. A sob wrenches from her chest as he pinches tight and lets her go. She needs him, needs more, needs to be claimed and defiled and used… “Please! Please sir, touch me, please please please…” She jerks against her bonds, a desperate, eager sacrifice on the altar of his whims. And he, a cruel, capricious god, slips one finger back between her legs, and starts brushing softly back and forth across her aching clit. Touching her, just as she’d asked – only, so very, very lightly.

She pleads again, another litany of want and need cascading from her lips. His answer is a tight grip in her hair, a scrape of teeth along her jaw, and a hot whisper in her ear. “You don’t get a choice, little one.” He caresses down her slit, sliding through slick folds with devious precision. “But by all means, keep begging – it just makes teasing you more fun.”

She does. She begs for faster, for harder, for more; she begs for release, for relief, for an end to her torment; she begs herself hoarse, till she’s crying, writhing, resplendent with want. He indulges her, sometimes, just enough to let her languish in hope, never enough to truly satisfy…

It’s terrible, and unbearable, and  _wonderful_. And when he’s done with her, when he’s reduced her to a trembling, quivering wreck, he picks up the forgotten rope from the floor. He circles it twice around her waist, strings a loop between her legs— and ties a fiendish knot that rests directly on her clit, rubbing wickedly with every breath.

“Don’t go anywhere, darling,” he drawls. “Daddy’s got some things to do. But maybe, if you’re very still and quiet, we can have more fun together later.” With a final, twisted grin, he smacks her thigh, gets to his feet, and walks away.

Kitten doesn’t know if it’s possible to die from sheer arousal. But if it is, then he’s  _definitely_  going to kill her after all.


End file.
